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He smiled. Then, without warning, he caught her lips in his. Shahrzad’s jaw slackened in surprise, and Tariq deepened the kiss, tilting her chin upward with a gentle caress of his thumb.
Shahrzad’s mouth responded automatically. Her lips curved over his as they had on many occasions before. But . . . why did it feel wrong this time? Where was that breathless, weightless thrill? That thoughtless moment of incandescence?
Where was that feeling of falling?
It’s here. I know it’s here. I can get it back.
I have to get it back.
REALIZATIONS
UPON EXPLANATIONS
A DAY OF HUNTING FOR SPORT SHOULD PROVE interesting, indeed.
Tariq strode down another never-ending corridor with a guard at his side. As he walked, he glanced around him at the splendor of the palace at Rey. The walls and domed ceilings above were polished beyond reason, and each portico was delineated at its center by a golden sunburst, supported by swooping beams and columned arches of blue-veined agate.
It was beautiful, without a doubt. If a bit cold and imposing.
Soon, he joined a gathering of noblemen taking part in today’s hunting excursion. In truth, Tariq was glad for the distraction and glad for the opportunity to spend time in the company of his target; his interaction with Shahrzad the night before had troubled him greatly.
It was unlike her to be so cagey and distant. It was also unlike her to be so concerned with safety. Usually, she was the first one to throw herself into the fray, heedless of the consequences.
When they were younger, Shahrzad had wanted to learn how to climb trees. Bored with the prospect in short order, she’d then insisted on breaching the walls of Taleqan. Both he and Rahim had begged her to cease in this foolishness, but, if anything, it had only spurred her onward. While watching her climb one afternoon, with her black hair streaming behind her in a tangled mess, he had caught sight of the mortar easing from the wall in a cloud of white dust by her foot. He had known, in that instant, that the brick was about to come loose. Tariq had shouted an all-too-late warning. He had heard Shiva’s scream from behind him when Shahrzad fell. His heart had left his chest as her small body plummeted to the sand. Tariq was the one who had reached her first, who had clutched her to him, demanding she respond. And he was the one who had cursed loudly when she laughed at him, saying she was fine, even if her head did hurt a little.
That was the day he first told her he loved her.
Tariq inhaled through his nose.
It was also unlike Shahrzad to hesitate. About anything.
And she had hesitated last night.
When he said he loved her on the balcony, she hesitated in her response. Then, when he kissed her, something was wrong. He could feel her thinking. Feel her questioning. Feel her wanting . . . something else.
Or someone else.
It was driving him mad.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Captain al-Khoury.”
Standing next to him was the arrogant boy with the curly hair and the omnipresent smirk.
Tariq returned a polite smile. “Tariq Imran al-Ziyad.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Does my reputation precede me?”
“I should hope not, if I were you.” The boy gri
“Are you this well informed in all matters?”
“It’s a hazard of my occupation. Speaking of such things, I was surprised to learn that you arrived with your father’s invitation in hand; I was looking forward to meeting him.”
Tariq crossed his arms to conceal his sudden discomfort. “He was ill and asked me to come to Rey in his stead.”
“A pity. Please convey my wishes for a speedy recovery.” Captain al-Khoury’s gaze roved to an archway in the corner, and his features leveled, retaining a semblance of their former amusement.
The boy-king had arrived. This time, Tariq took care to note the sword at the caliph’s left hip. The blade was an unusual one, to be sure—longer and more slender than a scimitar, with a sharply tapered edge.
“It’s called a shamshir,” Captain al-Khoury offered, watching Tariq with unabashed curiosity.
“I’m not familiar with that particular weapon.”
Captain al-Khoury nodded. “It’s unusual. But then, so is Khalid.”
“Khalid?”
“He’s my cousin.”
Tariq’s lips flattened. “I see.”
Captain al-Khoury laughed. “Don’t worry. We have very little in common, beyond blood.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I won’t break every bone in your body for a single misstep.” Though he continued smiling, his tone hovered on the verge of threatening, and Tariq chose to ignore it.
“That sounds unduly harsh.” And appropriately fitting.
Captain al-Khoury gri
Tariq swiveled back toward the boy-king, a series of lines creasing his sun-drenched forehead. “He seems very quiet.”
“He is quiet. But a man much wiser than I once said that the smartest men are the silent ones . . .”
Tariq waited, barely managing to conceal his growing contempt.
Captain al-Khoury leaned closer. “Because they hear everything.”
“It’s an interesting notion,” Tariq mused. “Who said it?”
Captain al-Khoury smirked with cool deliberation. “Khalid.” Then he strode to the boy-king’s side.
When the Sultan of Parthia arrived, the group of men began making their way down the corridors toward an open-air gallery ten times the size of the one at Taleqan. On one end of the gallery was a series of arched double doors leading to the begi
As the men traversed this course, they crossed paths with Shahrzad. She was walking through another set of double doors with an attractive young handmaiden and the same menacing brute of a bodyguard from last night.
Tariq’s chest hollowed at the sight of her.
She grew more beautiful with each passing moment, as though life in this palace of cold, polished stone suited her. Today, her garments of silver and rose made her black hair and bronze skin appear even more stu
But then, she dazzled Tariq always.
The assemblage of men paused to greet the calipha, and the bastard from Parthia stepped forward to make his own particular effort.
Tariq fought back the urge to react. To lash out.
Thankfully, Captain al-Khoury moved in Shahrzad’s direction, and Tariq disliked him a little less for it.
Until the boy-king stopped his cousin, with a single motion of his hand.
Infuriated, Tariq’s eyes shot to his target.
A hint of emotion flashed across the boy-king’s face.
Pride?
The Sultan of Parthia glided before Shahrzad, charm oozing from him like a wasting disease. “Good morning, my lady! I trust you had a nice evening.”
Shahrzad bowed. “I did, my lord. And you?”
He nodded. “A very nice evening. My daughter tells me she had a lovely conversation with you and was glad to have made your acquaintance.”
“I did enjoy my conversation with Yasmine, my lord. It was—enlightening.”
“I believe she used the very same word, my lady.”
“I find that rather appropriate, my lord. Given our exchange.”
“As silver-tongued as a viper.” He laughed. “Tell me, my lady, do you ever miss a moment to strike?”